


Unspoken

by DarthDre



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Confusion, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen - Freeform, Jonerys, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:18:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthDre/pseuds/DarthDre
Summary: During Spoils of War, Danny gets injured by Jaime before drogon intervenes and Jon is sick with worry. So when she arrives at dragonstone, he refuses to leave her side.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt done for the Fortnight of Jonerys Challenge on Tumblr hosted by BombGirlPow(her user on AO3, check her work out c).
> 
> This prompt was suggested by yours truly. <3
> 
> Hope you all like this one!

**Dany’s POV**

She felt the shrill pain in her side. She realized after, that it was the Kingslayer who stabbed her with his spear, all while she was trying to remove the large bolt from Drogon’s body. He somehow managed to escape before Drogon burnt him to ash.

He was pushed into the river by another man; and they never came back up. She assumed they died, but now she had the Dothraki searching the river beds, just in case.

“My Queen, are you fine?” Her hand, Tyrion Lannister asked.

She stood before the remaining Lannister and Tarly soldiers; trying not to show her injury or that it was painful. She stood tall, and proud. Like the dragon that she was.

“I’ll be fine, Tyrion, thank you,” she answered, briskly. She wanted to get the judgments over with.

She offered the people a choice, and they chose. Except for Lord Tarly and his son, they all bent the knee to their new queen.

It didn’t phase her as much when the proud lords met their fate. She understood that such was the way of things; and they made their choice. What kind of queen would she be if she didn’t keep true to her own word?

She made her way to Drogon, the pain in her side getting sharper. She winced slightly; refusing to give in to it. She turned to make sure the soldiers were following the Dothraki; no one lingered, except for Tyrion.

Her hand leaned on Drogon for support. The scaly body of her child was a comfort, she could feel her gown start to get heavy from the blood that was soaking through.

“Your Grace, you look very unwell,” he pointed, making his way to her. She felt his hand on her side and the small intake of breath he took indicated that he was worried, “You’re bleeding out. We need to get you some help, right away.”

“No,” she refused, stubbornly, “I just need to get home.”

“You will pass out before you can make it to Dragonstone,” Tyrion harshly replied. He sighed and composed himself, continuing, “Do not make it so easy for Cersei to win this war. Let us patch you up, silently, away from everyone. It will buy you some time so you can get the proper care you need in Dragonstone.”

Reluctantly, Daenerys agreed.

She sat near Drogon, resting her head on his face. He purred softly, lulling her to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

**Jon’s POV**

“What do you mean, ‘she got injured?’”

Jon asked, livid.

His tone was rough; and he sensed Davos was contemplating his answer, “She took a spear to the side—but Tyrion’s messaged mentioned that they managed to stop the bleeding. They tried to buy her enough time to get here.”

Jon rushed towards the window in the war room, scanning the skies, “She should be here soon then.”

“If the dragon flies quickly, which I’m sure it does, then yes.”

“I should have gone!” he shouted, turning towards the table, and slamming his fist on it, “Do they know who did it? Is he dead?”

Davos looked at the message, “There’s no mention of that here.”

Jon felt an overwhelming urge to hit someone. Something. He was confused and worried; mostly confused BECAUSE he was worried. He had no idea why he reacted the way he did.

He looked up and noticed Davos eyeing, strangely, “What?”

Davos shook his head, “Nothing.”

Jon’s eyebrows scrunched together. He knew Davos wanted to say more, but he wasn’t going to press it. He scoffed, “I’m going for some air.”

“Very well, my King, I will join you,” Davos said.

“I would very much like to be alone, Davos,” Jon said, trying not to sound frustrated with Davos. It wasn’t his fault any of this happened, “I need to gather my thoughts.”

Davos nodded.

Jon marched out of the room. His thoughts were flooded with images of Daenerys in battle. He started to worry that she might have died on the way to Dragonstone.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. If there was one thing he knew about Daenerys, it was that she was resilient. She was strong and as tough as Valyrian steel.

He finally reached the cliffside, and stood there. He scanned the skies in each direction, looking up each time he heard the screeching of the dragons circling Dragonstone. But, there were still only two.

The smell of the ocean air filled his lungs and he breathed it in, deeply. Closing his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the same image filled his mind. Silver hair. Gleaming eyes; tough, yet kind and soothing. Those beautiful full lips, that he couldn’t help but imagine how they would feel. He could still hear her voice in his ears; poised and firm.

He heard a screeching too, and his eyes opened. His heart skipped a few beats and he sighed with relief when he saw the familiar black dragon in the sky. And on top of him, was a tiny figure, silver haired and leaning on the dragon’s neck for support. The dragon, Drogon, landed in front of him.

Normally, he would be overcome with fear and awe, but right now, all he could think of was getting Daenerys to safety.

Impulsively, he ran towards her as she was dismounting the Dragon. Drogon, being protective of his mother, snarled. Jon stopped dead in his tracks. Drogon bared his teeth and growled softly. A sort of madness overcame him and he slipped his glove off. Slowly, and carefully, he reached his hand towards the snout of the gargantuan dragon. And to his surprise, the dragon allowed him to touch him.

The feeling he had was a mixture of shock and amazement. The dragon blinked slowly, as if communicating with him. Telling him that he was fine.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Daenerys reach the ground. Drogon lifted his head and allowed Jon to pass through. He walked swiftly towards her and he grabbed her gently by her arms, “I heard about what happened; you look very ill.”

Her face was drained and she looked very pale. The rosiness of her cheeks was gone and she looked weak.

“Come on,” he said, boldly lifting her up and carrying her in his arms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Dany’s POV**

She was vaguely aware of strong arms carrying her, “Hold on. You’re going to be fine.”

The voice said. He sounded frightened, and determined.

Another voice, “Khaleesi, can you hear me?”

They sounded distant. Like memories stretched out over the years; soft and vague.

She could make out the stature of the man carrying her; his fur cloak draped over his shoulders. His black hair pulled back, neatly. His arms didn’t waver. But she could feel him rushing.

“Daenerys,” he looked down at her, still walking. Her eyes could barely stay open, but she met his stare, “Don’t close your eyes.”

She nodded, an impulse. All she wanted to do was sleep.

That feeling that you get when you’re halfway between dreams and reality, she longed for it. She felt so tired. A nap would do some good.

“Stay awake, Khaleesi,” the other voice said.

But she shut her eyes. And she ignored their voices, falling into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

**Jon’s POV**

The moment she closed her eyes, Jon rushed her into her chambers where the Maester was already setting up his equipment. The tables were lined with vials; different items for different purposes.

Both he, and the other man, Jorah Mormont, were rushed out of the room by Missandei. Who was tasked with undressing her so they could properly clean and cauterize the wound.

He waited for hours; pacing outside of her chambers. The worry in his heart and mind weighed him down. He was exhausted, but he refused to sleep. The man, who met him when he was bringing in Daenerys stood across the hall from him.

“Mormont? From Bear Island?” Jon asked, trying to break the silence and keep his mind off the woman in the room.

“Yes, son of Jeor Mormont,” Jorah answered.

“I served with your father in the Night’s Watch, he was a good man,” Jon mentioned.

“I heard it was a mutiny,” Jorah pointed, looking at him rather accusingly,

Jon’s voice went dark, “ And I killed the mutineers.”

Jorah nodded, “I brought dishonor to my house and my father, it’s good to know you avenged him.”

“How is the Queen?” Tyrion’s voice came from the end of the hall.

“We don’t know,” Jon replied, “They’ve been at it for hours.”

“Ah,” Tyrion croaked.

“Who did this to her?” Jon asked, the anger seeping through in his voice.

Tyrion looked up at Jon, struggling to answer, “I think—I think it was my brother.”

Jon’s eyes widened. He looked at Jorah, who was sharing his anger. His eyes went back to Tyrion, “Is he dead?”

Before Tyrion could answer, the door opened and the Maester stepped out looking very exhausted.

“Ah, Maester, what is her condition?” Tyrion asked, no doubt trying to divert the conversation.

Jon’s eyes went to the Maester, who answered, “She will live. I have gaven her Essence of Nightshade to help her sleep through the pain. The spear missed any major organs, but she bled out heavily. She is lucky to be alive. I will need to change her bandages every few days to prevent the rot or any kind of infection”

Jorah sighed with relief. Jon tried his best to remain stoic and nonchalant about the ordeal.

“Do what needs to be done for her,” Tyrion said to the tired man, “Thank you, Maester.”

Missandei came out of the room, her arms full of soaked, bloody rags.

“Ah, Missandei, will you please take our Maester to his new chambers and have him fed a warm meal?”

Missandei nodded and led the Maester away. It was now just the three of them there, together. Jorah was the first to walk into the room, followed by Tyrion and then, Jon.

Jon’s breath caught in his throat; even in her sleep, she was still beautiful. Her silver hair was a sleek curtain around her. Her cheeks were still grey. And he couldn’t help but feel guilty. He could have gone with her, if she had asked. Even if she hadn’t asked, he could have swallowed his pride and gone into battle with her.

Jorah started whispering something in Daenerys’ ear. He planted a small kiss on her cheek and Jon couldn’t help but feel jealousy take over him. He felt disgusted with himself for feeling such a disgusting emotion. He turned his attention to Tyrion, who’s eyes were on the sleeping queen.

“Your brother did this to her,” he reminded him. Tyrion met his gaze and he continued, “If he’s not dead, he will be.”

Tyrion nodded. For someone who’s mind was sharp, he had not one word on the matter.

“Come, Ser Jorah, let me show you to your chambers,” Tyrion offered.

Unwillingly, Jorah followed Tyrion out of the room. Jon gave him a brief nod as he passed him.

The door closed quietly behind them. Jon was now alone with her. He could feel a churning in his stomach, a mixture of different emotions were overcoming him. Slowly, he made his way closer to her. He took a seat on the chair next to her bed. And he refused to move.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dany’s POV**

She could feel herself begin to regain consciousness. She assumed she was sleeping for quite awhile because her body felt stiff and heavy. She moved to lay on her side, feeling the pain.

“Ah,” she winced.

She heard the shuffling of footsteps, and suddenly someone was sitting on the bed next to her.

Her eyes took awhile to adjust to the light, but even with her vision blurred, she knew who it was. His silhouette was the same as when he was carrying her. His face held that same worried look he had when she returned, “Your Grace?”

Daenerys nodded, “How long was I out?”

Jon sighed, “Two days.”

She groaned, an injury took her out of the game. Who knows what she missed or what happened in those two days. She looked around the room; her shock became apparent when she saw the papers scattered on the writing table in the corner. She sat up and saw a few fur cloaks and blankets sprawled out on the floor.

Jon started apologizing, “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’ll—I’ll grab my things and leave.”

He quickly started gathering his papers, “Wait, how long have you been here?”

“It doesn’t matter, Your Grace. You’re alive and well; there are people who are worried about you and want to see you.”

“But—“

There was a knock on the door and Jon immediately went to open it.

“Good afternoon, Jon Snow,” she heard Missandei’s voice coming from the hall.

“Hello, Missandei, she’s awake now,” Jon said, moving aside to let Missandei in.

She walked in and immediately pulled Daenerys into a tight, friendly hug, “I was very scared for you.”

Over Missandei’s shoulder, she saw Jon Snow staring at her in a strange way. His eyes seemed tired; and there was something else there too. It was the same look Jorah gave her. He nodded his head once at her and smiled, slightly, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

“I’m fine, Missandei,” she assured her.

“I’m sure you are, Your Grace,” Missandei teased, at least that’s what if felt like.

Daenerys chuckled, “How long was he in here for?”

“Jon Snow? He carried you in here; he waited in the hall while the Maester worked on you. When we were finished, he came in here with Tyrion and Jorah. And he never left,” Missandei answered, matter of factly, she paused, and then continued, “He refused to leave, even to eat.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened. Her breathing quickened and her heart raced. It wasn’t just her imagination. All the signs she was reading made sense now. The way he looked at her, the way she felt around him. The strange urge to want him around, even though he was stubbornly proud.

“Your Grace?”Missandei asked, snapping Daenerys out of her thoughts.

Daenerys immediately composed herself and started, “So, Jorah is back?”


	2. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany confess to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, here is the second chapter and I apologize dearly that it's late. I have been on bed rest for a whole week, but now I am feeling better and I figured I would post up the chapter before tonight's season finale.
> 
> And thank you all so much for requesting it, for reading my fics and leaving me comments. They really make my day and they make me happy! <3
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

**Dany’s POV**

She hadn’t seen Jon Snow in days. Tyrion and Jorah both implored that she stay in her quarters to heal properly.

“The war isn’t going to win itself,” she would counter, whenever they shot down her assurances that she was feeling better.

“No, it isn’t, but that’s why we’re here,” Tyrion retored, “We bring the war room to you and we can make plans here; but there is no need for you to leave your chambers, Your Grace.”

“He’s right, Khalessi,” Jorah added, “You need to regain your strength.”

And, reluctantly, she obeyed, much to her dismay. She knew they were only looking out for her. But the war really wasn’t the only reason why she wanted to leave the room. She wanted to speak to Jon.

The things Missandei said about him; not wanting to leave her side, staying with her and protecting her, they stirred feelings inside of her. She wanted to ask him why he refused to leave, she guessed the answer. But, guessing and wondering only got her so far and she drove herself mad trying to make sense of it.

The man was stubborn, they bumped heads on more than a few occasions, but that didn’t deter him from coming to her. Except for now.

Jorah left the room to attend to matters with Missandei, Tyrion, however, stayed behind and sensed his Queen’s unrest, “The war isn’t the only thing on your mind, is it, Your Grace?”

Daenerys’ breath caught for a moment before she answered, “I don’t know what you speak of.”

Tyrion eyed her, “Of course not, that is why when we mentioned that we got word from Grey Worm, all you did was nod. We thought you would be pleased.”

“And I am, I really am pleased that Grey Worm was able to get news to us,” she replied, trying to make the relief apparent in her voice. And failing miserably.

Tyrion moved near her, “I suspect it all has to do with our guest, The King in the North. I have seen the way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t look at me like anything, Lord Tyrion,” she countered.

“My mistake, I was wrong. He doesn’t look at you like he’s utterly in love with you,” Tyrion jabbed. No doubt trying to get a rise out of her. Understandable, he wanted to make sure she wasn’t distracted.

“Jon Snow is not in love with me,” she pointed, adding, “He’s just trying to secure allies for this ‘threat’ of the dead.”

“Of course he is,” he smirked, “I shall leave you, Your Grace. You need lots of rest and time to ponder on this alliance with Jon Snow.”

Daenerys’ eyes followed Tyrion’s stature as he left the room. Olenna Tyrell was right, her hand was a clever man. Not that she didn’t know that already, but nothing seemed to get past him.

What if Jon Snow was in love with her?

It would explain why he stayed with her. She shook those thoughts from her head and immediately started to read the latest reports. Elia Martell was nowhere to be found, and she had no doubt that the harpy Cersei Lannister had captured her. Yara Greyjoy was captured by Euron, and Olenna Tyrell was murdered in her home of High Garden. All of her allies were gone.

Save for one. Jon Snow. If he was an ally. The stubborn northman that refused to bend the knee. The man that was not afraid to jab her with his words. The same man that showed her kindness and offered her counsel when she needed it.

She sighed, loudly and heavily. Completely frustrated with the thoughts in her head.

She laid her head back down on the soft, feather pillows on her bed. Closing her eyes, she could hear the sea and the screeching of her children as they flew in the sky. She slowly drifted off to sleep, vaguely hearing the sound of familiar boots on the stone floor.

 

 

It was dark when she woke again. The candles in her chamber were lit and there was a tray of food on the table beside her with a chalice of wine. She slowly sat up and started digging into the smoked pork and vegetables on the plate, washing it down with the sweet wine.

Once she was finished, she set the tray aside and very slowly pushed the warm furs off of her warm body. She winced as the pain in her side throbbed dully.

Her bare feet touched the cold floor and, carefully, she heaved herself up, using the small table as leverage. It wasn’t until she was fully upright that she felt the piece of paper on the table next to the tray.

She slowly stood up tall and opened the note in her hands:

 

_Hope you are feeling better and praying for a swift recovery._

_– Jon_

 

She felt the corners of her mouth pull up into a smile. He came to her while she slept, he brought her the dinner that she so graciously ate.

Daenerys grabbed her robe and quickly tied it over her nightgown. She took a quick look at her appearance in the looking glass on her table. Her cheeks were rosy once again. And her hair was slightly tangled, she did her best to make herself look presentable, and once she was satisfied with her appearance, she took a deep breath and slowly made her way towards his chambers.

It was a long, cold and frustrating walk. The castle was silent and she heard movement coming from Tyrion’s chambers as she passed. No doubt he was mulling over the latest reports, trying to find some clever way to outmaneuver his sister. She continued her walk and when she finally reached his chambers, she sighed, nervously, knocking on his door softly.

 

* * *

 

 

**Jon’s POV**

He paced every inch of his room as he read the note from Sansa. She mentioned that Bran returned and his heart soared, once he heard about Arya, he had to keep walking to stop himself from collapsing with joy.

He hadn’t seen either of them since he left for the Night’s Watch and he assumed that both of them were dead. This news made him ecstatic, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. He would need to write to them to make sure they all stayed put, he wasn’t going to let them slip through his fingers again.

Just as he was about to sit at his desk to write a reply, he heard a soft knock on his door.

_Who in seven hells could it be at this hour?_

“Come in,” he answered.

His heart froze when he saw her small stature emerge from the other side of the door. She wore a black silk nightgown, her cheeks finally had the rosy glow to them that they had before her injury. Her silver hair was loose and fell over her shoulders and cascaded down her back. He saw that she wasn’t wearing any shoes and he couldn’t help but worry, “Your Grace, you should be in bed, resting.”

“I’m fine, Jon,” she said, impatiently.

“You shouldn’t be walking around the castle in your condition,” he continued.

She eyed him, the irritation in her eyes apparent, “If I wanted to be coddled like a child I would have gone to see Jorah or Tyrion. I don’t want to be coddled.”

Jon couldn’t help but smirk, he admired her resilience and her spirit, “At least let me help you sit.”

Daenerys returned his smirk, “As much as I appreciate the offer, I would like to stand. I’ve been laying in bed for days and would like to stretch my legs.”

Jon nodded and he noticed that she was looking at the paper in his hands, “Oh, news from Winterfell. Two of my other siblings have returned home; everyone thought they were dead.”

“I’m glad they’re alive,” she smiled.

He couldn’t help but smile back, “So am I; it’s a relief.”

They stayed silent for a moment, Jon caught himself staring at her and put the paper on his desk, “So, what can I do for you, Your Grace?”

“I wanted to come and thank you, personally, for bringing me my dinner,” she said.

“It was not a problem, Your Grace,” Jon smiled.

She took a few steps towards him, “And for watching over me as I slept.”

Jon froze. He didn’t know what to say to that or how to respond. So he stayed silent and dumbly nodded.

“Why?” She asked, the curiosity clear in her voice, along with skepticisim.

“Why, what?”

She scoffed, “When we first met, Jon Snow, you specifically told me that you didn’t know me and you refused to bend the knee and accept me as your queen; and suddenly, after this happened, I hear that you stayed in my chambers with me and refused to leave. You refused to let anyone in and you watched over me. What am I to make of that?”

Jon sighed, “I was doing the right thing, if it bothers you so, it won’t happen again.”

She rolled her eyes, “That doesn’t answer the question, Jon.”

His impatience grew, he knew what she wanted but he didn’t want to answer. Answering the question would make it real. It would make the feelings real. Feelings that he refused to talk about with anyone or out loud, “It does, Your Grace.”

She growled, “You are so stubborn!”

He chuckled, “I’m stubborn?! With respect, Your Grace, I’m not the one that flew out on the back of a dragon and put myself in danger—“

“No, you just put yourself in danger when it came time to take back Winterfell,” she cut him off, he felt his irritation growing and in doing so, hers was matching his, “I lost my allies, my Unsullied were stuck on Casterly Rock! I took your advice; I didn’t use my dragons to burn down King’s Landing, I used my Dothraki to burn down the Kingslayer’s army, out of the way of any innocents!”

“Yes, and you got yourself injured in the process! You could have died!”

“And what does it matter if I did?!”

Jon bit his tongue, his temper was boiling over and he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. He didn’t want to disrespect her, even though shouting was some semblance of disrespect. He turned to face the window in his room, hoping the sea air would help calm him.

“Why does it matter so much to you, Jon?!”

He swiftly turned and couldn’t help but shout, “Because without you everyone is lost! Without you, I’m lost! When I found out the Kingslayer hurt you all I could think of was riding to King’s Landing and killing that one handed fucker because of what he did to you!”

Daenerys’ face was frozen with shock, and once he realized what he said, his face fell. The truth was out. The truth that he tried for weeks to hold in and deny. He shut his eyes tightly and rubbed his neck before finally speaking again, “I was worried about you. I—I care for you more than I thought I would or knew I would. You’re—“ he paused, not wanting to betray himself any longer, but he couldn’t stop himself, “You’re good, and kind. You’re passionate, powerful and your heart is pure. I should have gone with you. I should have been there.”

He sat at his bed, sulking. If he had gone, then maybe she wouldn’t have taken that spear to her side. He could have taken it for her. He could have killed Jaime Lannister. Anything.  

He felt the furs on his bed shift and he felt a small, gentle warm hand on his cheek. She moved his face so he could face her, “I care for you too, Jon.”

His breath caught in his throat, and he slowly leaned in. She didn’t move, didn’t falter, their faces were so close now and he impulsively pressed his lips against hers; sweet and soft. She returned his kiss and suddenly, Jon couldn’t control himself anymore.

His hands went to her sides, laying her on her back. He tried his best to be gentle with her, knowing well that she was still in pain. He paused from kissing her, his forehead against hers, “Is this fine? I can stop if you don’t want to.”

Daenerys nodded, “Don’t stop, Jon.”

He continued to kiss her passionately, softly, sweetly. His hands made their way to her robe and they swiftly undid the knot in one pull. One hand cradling her face, the other made it’s way under her nightgown. He gently glided his hand over her leg; he could hear her breathing quicken as he reached her area. His fingers started playing with her clit, and he couldn’t help but stop kissing her so he could take in her reactions.

Her face was beautiful, her eyebrows scrunched up together in pleasure as he pushed his finger inside of her. Her moans and groans were music in his ears; and he slowly pulled his finger out of her and moved to cup her breast, kissing her neck. Her hands slightly tugging his hair, “I love you, Jon.”

Jon paused and looked up at her. This woman, this beautiful and powerful woman, that could have any man that she wanted in the world loved him. HIM. He was overtaken with joy, he smiled as he replied to her, “And I love you, Daenerys.”

She smiled at him and he pressed his lips against hers, feeling his hardness overtaking him.

He would make sure that she would never forget this night, or any nights they shared in the future. Together.   


End file.
